Q, T and the Beast
by Dr. Shubert
Summary: Q sends Counsellor Trio back to the twentieth century to settle a bet about true love. Picard must rescue her before she wants to stay there forever. Crossover of ST:TNG with BATB.
1. Prologue: What's Past is

**DISTRIBUTION STATEMENT:** This story cannot be sold or used for profit in any way. Copies of this story may be made for private use only or posted in fanfic archives for general distribution, but must include all disclaimers and copyright notices.**  
CLASSIFICATION:** Crossover of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and _Beauty and The Beast_, with guest cameos from _Quantum Leap_ and _Forever Knight_.**  
SPOILER WARNING:** Occurs after _"The Quality of Life_ in ST:TNG and the last season of BATB.**  
RATING:** T**  
CONTENT WARNING:** This story depicts scenes of violence and/or their aftermath. If depictions of this nature disturb you, you may wish to read something other than this story.**  
DISCLAIMER:** _Star Trek_ belongs to Paramount, _Beauty and The Beast_ belongs to Ron Koslow, _Quantum Leap_ belongs to Bellisarius Productions, and _Forever Knight_ belongs to James Parriott. This is a work of amateur fiction, and is not intended to infringe on any copyrights. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. I'm too broke to be sued, anyway. (But if any of you think my literary skill presents that much of a risk, feel free to _HIRE_ me!)**  
SUMMARY:** Q sends Counsellor Troi back to the twentieth century to settle a bet about "true love". Picard must rescue her before she wants to stay there forever.  
**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Welcome to my very first attempt at producing a fanfic. I first began writing it in 1993 (after my annual BATB zine shipment was FINALLY delivered), and posted it on the Star Trek conference of the Intelec echo-mail network. In the beginning, it was to be pure ST:TNG/BATB, but before long I found myself inserting cameo crossovers of every show I liked during that period. Unfortunately, I ran out of inspiration at the end of Part XII, and the series died a natural death. That set the tone for all the other multipart xovers I subsequently attempted, prompting me to register here as "Dr. Schubert, master of the unfinished fanfic." (Fortunately I discovered drabbles. :) ) This story represents the longest fanfic I've written to date, and (IMHO) one of the best. If I get some good reviews I may be inspired to actually finish it. 

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Prologue - "What's past is ..."**_

_**

* * *

"Captain's Log: Stardate 46327.22**  
Once again, we have been ordered by Starfleet Command to abort our current mission and return to Earth without explanation. Since we arrived, Counsellor Troi and I have been ordered to beam down to a location beneath the ancient city of New York. While a sensor scan of the location (done on my authority) did not not detect any traces of trialic radiation, I cannot help but note the similarity to the beginning of our recent mission involving the Devidian incursion into 19th century San Francisco.(1) Although it is more than likely that my suspicions are unfounded, I cannot shake this vague feeling of foreboding."

* * *

_

"The tunnels under New York have seen many strange things over the last seven centuries," said the Professor as he led the pair through the convoluted stone and brick passage ways. "During the city's recent sept-centennial celebrations(2), certain documents were found that led to the discovery of a subterranean community that existed here under the city from the mid-twentieth to the early twenty-first century. While we are still piecing together the evidence, our most valuable find was a series of paintings discovered in the upper tunnels. They are apparently a chronicle of the history of the community, beginning in early 1950's and extending until the mid 1990's."

"What happened to them?" asked the Captain, intrigued with the idea that a secret community could exist under the busiest city of that era.

"We don't know yet," admitted the Professor as they emerged into a well lit area with smooth walls. "But whatever happened, it didn't happen suddenly. Although the living quarter's and some of the larger furniture remain, most of the personal effects and records are gone. Those that remain have been badly damaged by the dampness down here."

As they began to look at the pictures, Troi remarked, "You can tell the artist really cared about her subjects."

"Her?" asked the Captain, somewhat bemused.

"The images and composition do tend to indicate a feminine personality. See the importance that she places on the children, and those that care for them..."

They stopped, looking at the image of a bearded man, holding a rather unusual child. The face of the child looked somewhat feline, with a cleft upper lip, and a flattened nose. The fingernails were almost like small claws, and the artist left the impression of downy fur on the hands and arms.

"Those two seem to be the central figures of the community," continued the Professor, "with the man being the leader. He appears to have been a physician, since there are several pictures where he treats various injuries, and one where he is actually performing surgery. Although many others are shown in this gallery, they are most often shown in their relation to the man, or the child."

As they progressed down the tunnel, they saw other pictures of the child, as he grew to manhood. "Do you think he was an alien?" Picard asked wondering just why he was here.

"Maybe that, maybe an early genetic experiment. Even they don't seem to have known. But even though he must have been very strong, he seems to have been a rather gentle fellow. At least, until he met ... her."

They stopped, looking at a picture of two people. One was the strange cat like child, now grown into leonine adulthood. A proud figure, he stood tall and strong, gazing down gently at the other. The other was a beautiful woman, dressed in clothes showing her to be a resident of the city above. There could be no mistake about the feeling between them. Their love was an almost palpable thing, reaching across the borders of time and space. "Imzadi" murmured Troi, remembering.

The rest of the gallery was hidden behind tarps and scaffolding, as teams of experts tried to restore images damaged by dampness and time. "It appears to have been a classic tragic love story. We aren't sure how much of it was real, and how much legend. We do know that she was murdered, and left a child behind. We even have tentative identification from old computer records. She worked for the city as a lawyer in the assistant district attorney's office. Her name was Catherine Chandler."

"All this is very interesting, I'm sure," interrupted Picard, only mildly impatient. "But what has all this to do with us?"

"Perhaps Dr. Bennett could explain better than I," replied the Professor, as they approached an attractive, red headed woman who was working very intently with a specialized tricorder.

As she looked up, a look of startled recognition appeared on Deanna's face. "DeeDee," she exclaimed, "whatever are you doing here?" Remembering her captain, she turned to him, saying "Captain Picard, this is Dr. Dolores Bennett, an old friend of mine from the academy, and a terrific anthropologist. We took a course in "Humanoid Imagery" together. But I thought you were still on Kolodus IV, working on the Voradic holograms."

"I came home for the sept-centennial celebrations and got hooked into this." She grinned sheepishly. "Actually, I jumped at the chance. There have been legends about this place in my family for generations, but everyone thought they were just stories."

She moved the group over to a section of wall covered by a tarp. "There was an old water main over this section that burst about 150 years ago. We've been restoring the pictures for the last couple of years, and when the technicians finished this section, they brought me in to analyse it. When I saw it, I immediately called Starfleet Command. You'll see why," she said as she removed the tarp.

The picture was of the cat-man carrying a woman in his arms. There was a look of sadness on his face. But the woman was not the one from the other picture. Instead of the clothing of that period, she wore a Starfleet uniform. Deanna stiffened in shock. "It's ... me!" she gasped, stunned.

"Oh, merde," muttered the captain, "not again!" As he moved Deanna away from the picture, he noticed a small mark, like a letter, underneath the hand of the creature. Pausing to examine the mark more closely, his face suddenly turned red with anger. Picking up that feeling, Deanna turned to him, her eyes questioning. His answer was only one word, but that was all that was needed. "Q!"

**

* * *

REFERENCES**

1. Star Trek: The Next Generation, Time's Arrow I & II, STARDATE: 45959.1-46001.3

2. "The town was seized (1664) by the English and was renamed New York." p. 675, The New Lexicon Webster's Dictionary of the English Language (Lexicon Publications Inc., 1987). In the first season episode The Neutral Zone (SD: 41986.0), we learn the Earth year is 2364. This story takes place during the sixth season, after The Quality of Life (SD: 46307.2).


	2. Part I: The Wager

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part I - The Wager

* * *

**_

_**"Vincent's Journal, October 31, 1993**  
Tonight, my son is going Above for the first time. Although he isn't quite sure that means, he knows that Above is the place where I found his mother, and like her, is eager to meet a new challenge. It will also be the first time for me in the four years since Catherine's death. Diana offered to take him Above for me, but I feel that this is something we have to do together. Father, of course, protested mightily about risks we are taking, but I could sense that it was more for tradition than for anything else. In fact, he's relieved that I decided it was time. Mary is making a special costume for Jacob, but she is keeping it a secret (although I do have my suspicions). It will feel strange to walk under the stars again. But this is the night "when the walls between worlds grow thin, and the creatures of the underworld walk the earth. When anything is possible, and nothing is quite as it seems."_ _**

* * *

Elsewhen... **_

"Love? BAH! Just another example of the way humans try to glorify their crude biological urges. I'm glad we've evolved beyond such nonsense." The entity known to the crew of the Enterprise as Q shook his head sadly at his pupil. "Like your silly attachment to your human name, you will have to give such notions if you are ever to become a true member of the continuum."

The one calling herself Amanda(1) was outraged. "How can you say such a thing! Love is the driving force behind all that is beautiful. My parents loved each other, and I loved them. They didn't consider such notions as too primitive for the Q." She'd been taking a break from her studies by surfing the event horizon of a black hole (keeping those causality strings straight was a little tricky) when her mentor/nemesis popped out of nowhere and began quizzing her about her affinity for her human past.

When she unwisely suggested that his current spate of contempt for humans was the result of a broken heart, he rounded on her angrily. "Vash was like all humans! Fickle! Not one of them is capable of true commitment. They even admit in their art." Amanda suddenly found herself in an empty 20th century movie theatre watching a scene from the movie "Finnian's Rainbow" with Q on the screen dressed as the leprechaun Og singing "If I can't be with the one that I love, I love the one that I'm with."

Amanda countered by turning the screen into a 16 part composite monitor, and each screen showed her in different roles singing different songs about the glory of love. Q, disgusted, shut off the display with a wave of his hand. "Alright, so humans have this maudlin fascination with True Love. But it's just a myth. Given the right circumstances, any two humans can fall in love, even if they supposedly are in true love with someone else."

A sly smile appeared on his face. "I'll make you a wager. You choose someone from Earth's history whom you believe could have only One True Love. If I can't get that person to fall in love with a stranger of my choosing, I will admit before the entire continuum that I was wrong. But if I can," he paused for dramatic effect, "then you must give up your name, and forever after be addressed as Q."

Amanda hesitated, reluctant to interfere in the affairs of others. She still felt more human than omnipotent at times, and remembered how it was to be in situations she thought were beyond her control. But she realized that unless she accepted his challenge, and placed some conditions on the contest, Q was likely to go ahead anyway, not only "stacking the deck" to prove his point, but perhaps altering history by choosing a important romantic relationship to destroy.

"No tricks, no mind control or illusions, no forcing them into compromising or traumatic situations."

Q nodded, looking a little less cocky than before. "I'd just bring them together, and stay out of it."

Amanda finally agreed, saying "I know just who I want to choose. I heard this story from a neighbour on Earth. It was passed down from generation to generation, but is supposedly a true story. Once upon a time, in the city of New York..."

* * *

Two cloaked figures emerged carefully from a drainage tunnel in Central Park. Since it would not do for someone to see them in such a strange place, they hurried to the nearest path, reaching it just as two people in costume rounded the bend. "Daddy, look!" cried the smaller one, "A princess!" 

And the two approaching did indeed look like figures out of a fairy tale. The man, decked out in a crown and royal robes, looked every inch the monarch, right down to the arrogant expression on his face. The young lady beside him wore a ball gown of pink and silver, with a tiara of silver and diamonds resting on her head. As they approached the cloaked pair, "Daddy" looked almost ready to turn away, but the two passed by silently, with only a slight nod and a smile from the lady. No greeting was given, no comment made on the realistic "masks" the father and son wore.

As the glittering couple walked away into the night, Vincent's sharp ears heard the man comment wryly, "You don't believe in making things easy, do you?" to which his companion replied confidently, "True Love never is."

Jacob had thought he was ready for all the strange things to be found Above. After all, he'd seen all the pictures and heard the stories of the world of the Topsiders. But nothing, NOTHING, could have prepared him for the sheer size and noise of it. Over his head, no comforting roof but an endless black expanse dotted with tiny lights ("Stars" Daddy called them) that sparkled like the rocks found in the crystal caverns. Some of the lights were moving and flashing different colors. "Are those stars too?" Jacob asked. "No," Daddy replied, "those are airplanes." When Jacob expressed his disbelief, Daddy told him they were so small because they were far away.

All around him were living things, "trees" and "grass" just like in the story books grandfather read to him. And NO WALLS! It seemed like he could run forever in any direction and never have to stop. And in the distance (now he understood the term) he heard strange noises, not the constant tapping of the pipes, but the rumbles and roars and wailings of traffic and, as they approached the street, of people. So many people! It seemed like the whole world was on the street tonight, wearing strange costumes. If Daddy hadn't been there, Jacob would have been scared. But Daddy was there, and everything was going to be alright.

As Vincent approached the place where he was to meet Diana Bennett and the children, he marvelled at how little the world Above had changed from that last Halloween so long ago. Then, he had been filled with the wonder of it all, walking among them, as one of them, filled with the joy of love and possibilities. But for him, the possibilities had died with Catherine. Or so it had seemed then. For as he watched his son join his friends for their night of "trick or treating", he felt a sense of anticipation, of hope, that he had thought lost forever. This was going to be a special night. He was sure of it.

* * *

**REFERENCE**

1. Star Trek: The Next Generation, True Q, SD: 46192.3


	3. Part II: Ready, Set, Go

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part II - Ready, Set, Go

* * *

**_

_**"Captain's Log: Stardate 46328.03**  
Once again the evidence indicates that one of my crew will be travelling back in time. But unlike our previous experience, we will not be unprepared for the event. Various articles are being fabricated by the Historical Research department that Counsellor Troi may find useful. The Counsellor is in the holodeck studying the customs and social environment of 20th century New York. Lt. Cmdr. Data has been assigned to assist Dr. Bennett in uncovering more information about this extraordinary event. The only thing we can do is wait."_

* * *

Deanna was beginning to get rather fustrated. "I thought this was a public transport system," she fumed, glaring at a rather frazzled bus driver. 

He replied, "Sure is, lady, but you still got to pay." The other passengers of the crowded urban mass transport vehicle looked at her as if she was from another planet (which, of course, she was). She was still trying to figure out what "Exact Change" meant when, to her relief, she was interrupted by the chirping of her communicator, notifying her that the captain wanted her to report to the ready room. With a great deal of satisfaction, she commanded the computer to end program.

When Deanna entered the ready room, the captain immediately handed her a small pouch. "This contains some jewellery that can easily be sold for cash. There is also a list of the estimated prices that you can expect to get for them in the local currency, as well as a map of New York city circa 1990, and a guidebook published in the same period. Keep it with you at all times from now on."

Deanna went to her usual seat at the briefing table as the others filed in, stopping for a moment to clip the pouch to her uniform belt. To a stranger's eyes she would have appeared calm, almost serene, but Picard could tell she was hanging on by a thread. Once everyone was seated, the captain asked Data for his report.

"We have determined that the event depicted involving Counsellor Troi occurred no earlier than February 26, 1993. This is due to the picture's relative position to one shown an explosion at the World Trade Centre. This would have been important to the underground community due to the risk the resulting investigation would have posed to..." Data paused as the captain cleared his throat. Recognizing that he had digressed from the topic at hand he continued, "Yes, sir. The colored leaves at the feet the the person carrying the Counsellor support the theory that her visit to that time may have occurred in the autumn of that year. Perhaps at Halloween, when he could have taken advantage of the fact that his unusual appearance would been accepted as a costume in the world above."

"Very good, Data," interrupted a familiar, and unwelcome, voice. They all turned to see Q, strangely dressed as a king complete with ermine cape and crown, lounging against the bulkhead near the window. "I haven't even begun the game yet, and already you've solved the biggest piece of the puzzle." Noticing Picard obviously holding his anger in check, he groaned and said, "Alright Jean-Luc, say it and get it over with."

Picard exploded, "Q, What is the meaning of this outrage!"

"See, don't you feel better now? No? Well, to answer your question, I need your Counsellor to help settle a little wager." Noticing the others rising ominously from their seats, Q concluded, "Don't worry, she won't harmed, and can return to you after I'm through. That is, if she wants to. But you'll have to have to come to pick her up." Q gestured, and vanished along with Troi.

* * *

Deanna found herself sitting on what appeared at first glance to be a large stone bench. It was dark, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw other shapes around her, their details undefined. She could hear the sounds of a city in the distance. Noises that she had heard only minutes ago in the holodeck, of wheeled ground vehicles that had not been used for centuries. The air was tainted with the byproducts of fossil fuels. The moon, Earth's moon, came out from behind a cloud, and she saw clearly where she was for the first time. 

"A graveyard," she whispered, frightened not by her location, but by the fact that she was there. She stood up, a little bit dizzy from the abrupt transition, and moved towards where she thought she saw a path. Surely it will lead out of this place, she thought. In the darkness, she didn't see the tree root that tripped her, or the name on the tombstone her head struck as she fell. There was only a brief moment of pain as she lost consciousness. She didn't hear the two voices arguing over the definition of harm. Nor did she see the two cloaked figures that approached the grave some minutes later.


	4. Part III: Stranger in the Night

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part III - Stranger in the Night

* * *

**_

_**"Vincent's Journal, November 1, 1993**  
Why is it my life can never be simple? I only wanted to show my son the world his mother came from. To take him to her resting place, and tell him of our love. I never intended to become involved with the troubles of that world again. But when I saw the stranger lying there on Catherine's grave, how could I turn away?_

_Perhaps it would have been easier if I hadn't told Jacob we were going to see his mother. I had explained before that his mother was in Heaven, and that we wouldn't actually be seeing her, but I wasn't sure Jacob understood. So when he said someone was there, I thought it was his imagination, or perhaps my vague hope, communicated to him through our bond. And in that brief instant, as we cleared the trees and saw her still form lying there, my heart shouted "Could it be?" But in the next moment, I knew her to be a stranger._

_I still don't understand why I brought her home. It wasn't because of her injuries. They didn't seem too severe, although with head trauma you cannot be sure. It wasn't because of her beauty. In my eyes, Catherine will always be the definition of that word, and they looked nothing alike. She had no identification, nothing to tell us who she was or who to contact. Only a small pouch of jewelery, a map of the city, and a guide book. But when I touched her, I somehow knew she was as much a stranger to this world as I am, but in a different way. So I brought her home. Father, of course, was furious..."

* * *

_"I cannot believe you did this!" Father fumed, as he worked on the still form in front of him. "Is this the way you teach your son to keep this place SAFE?" 

Vincent listened to his father's angry words, knowing that this time they could be justified. "I could not leave her there," he protested softly, "No one would have found her for hours. And when she was found, without identification or any evidence of insurance she would have ended up in a charity ward until she recovered enough to tell them who she was. And you know what those places are like."

Father nodded, remembering last year when Mouse was injured Up Top while "finding" some supplies for one of his projects. He still hadn't fully recovered from the despair and apathy of the place they found him. Even though his love of "gizmos" seemed unabated, he refused to go Above alone anymore.

In spite of his protests, Father knew that Vincent could have acted in no other way. His mind flew back to another time when his son had brought an injured woman to his care. He wondered if he had known then the effect that Catherine would have on all their lives, whether he would have moved her Above to a hospital regardless of the risks. But when he looked at his son, and his grandson, he knew he would never have done it. Even with all the upheavals and pain the subsequent events caused, the happiness and love Catherine had given his son had made it all worthwhile. Looking down at his new patient, Father wondered what effect this strangely garbed young woman before him would have on all their lives.

* * *

"Is the lady going to be alright?" asked Jacob as Vincent removed the last of his son's makeup. Although Jacob was sorry he couldn't look like Daddy all the time, at the moment he was more interested in the stranger Daddy brought home from Above. He remembered the story about how his daddy had found his mommy in the park one night, and brought her home because she had been hurt by some bad men. It would be great if this new lady could become his mommy. Then Daddy wouldn't be so lonely any more. 

Vincent was about to answer his son when felt a brief touch at the edges of his mind. Thinking at first it was his son trying to get the answer though their bond, he automatically erected the shield he had been forced to develop when Jacob had been teething. About to chastise Jacob for his breech of manners, Vincent realized that the touch was not his son's, but that of the stranger. What was more, she seemed to some empathic abilities similar to his own. "With Father looking after her, she'll be just fine," Vincent answered his son, somewhat absently as the implications began to fill his mind.

Forcing his attention back to the matters at hand, he said, "In any event, you can see her in the morning if she is feeling any better. But now it's time for you to go to bed." Expecting at least a token protest, he was a little surprised to see his son obediently climb into bed without argument. Vincent decided that his son had as much excitement as he could stand for one day, so he tucked Jacob in, said his goodnights, and went to see what Father had found out about their most recent guest.

* * *

The first thing she was aware of was the pain. It reminded her of the morning after her graduation party from the Academy, when one of her "friends" tricked her into trying Romulan Ale. Who knew it was particularly potent for Betazoids. 

Even through the pain, she felt the concern in the minds around her. She wondered where she was. Certainly not on the Enterprise. If she was, Beverly would have given her a shot for the pain by now. And the sounds were different, too. Instead of the hum of the engines, she heard a strange tapping sound. It was cooler than life support usually kept the ship, about 10 degrees Celsius less than normal. She wasn't afraid. Although none of the minds around her felt familiar, she sensed no hostility or malice from them, only concern and curiosity.

One mind in particular fascinated her. Underneath the gentleness and compassion she sensed from him, was a pain so vast it made her physical pain pale into insignificance. She instinctively reached out to soothe his pain, but was met by a barrier she could not penetrate. Deanna opened her eyes, and remembered.

"How are you feeling?" The words were spoken by a middle aged man, in his late fifties or early sixties. Deanna immediately recognized him as the physician/leader whose picture she had seen earlier. He was dressed in layers of sweaters and patched leather obviously designed to conserve body heat in this cool environment. She tried to sit up, but the dizziness and nausea she felt forced her to lay down again. She decided a heartfelt groan was the most eloquent answer she could give at the moment.

"I guess that answers my question. At the risk of sounding annoyingly obvious, you really shouldn't try to sit up just yet. You had a rather nasty crack on the head, and could be suffering from concussion." It seems that basic bedside manner remains unchanged down through the centuries, Deanna mused to herself as the doctor began his examination.

"How many fingers do you see?"

"Three," Deanna replied, hoping this was correct. She wasn't sure she trusted the state of 20th century medicine. Besides, although Betazoids were humanoid, they were NOT precisely human, a fact that would be detected by a detailed medical examination.

The doctor continued his questions. "What is your name?"

"Deanna Troi." Safe enough, her name wasn't too usual for Terra.

"Do you remember what happened?"

"I was in a graveyard. I was trying to find a way out, and I tripped and fell." It's better to be honest about the verifiable facts.

"What were you doing there?"

Deanna paused at this. She couldn't very well tell him that an omnipotent being had bought her from the future to settle some kind of bet. After a moments consideration, she remembered a discussion she once had with Captain Picard about 20th century fiction, and the plot devices commonly used in it. It had occurred shortly after the "Hotel Royale" incident, when Will, Data, and Worf had been trapped in an alien simulation based on a bad novel by a hack Terran author. Although it annoyed her to have to use such an overworked gimmick, she could think of no practical alternative, and it did have the advantage of being at least marginally believable.

"I don't remember," she replied, almost apologetically. "In fact, I can't remember anything before finding myself in that graveyard."

Feeling the suspicion and disbelief in her inquisitor's mind, Deanna decided to go on the offensive. Calling on all she had learned from acting in Beverly's amateur theatricals she cried, "Where am I? What is this place? This isn't a hospital. Are you a doctor? What am I doing here? Why can't I remember anything but my name? I want to go home, but I don't know where it is, or how to get there. What am I going to do?" Deanna's fake tears became real, as she finally acknowledged just how far from home she really was.

* * *

In another place, not so far away, another woman was asking similar questions. But for her, the questions were real. 


	5. Part IV: The Doctor is IN

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part IV - The Doctor is IN

* * *

**_

_**"Captain's Log: Stardate 46328.47**  
In spite of our advance knowledge, the entity known as Q has successfully abducted our ship's counsellor, Deanna Troi. However, all is not yet lost. In his arrogance, Q has all but pinpointed her location in time, and challenged us to retrieve her. This would require that this ship, or a least an away team, travel back in time to Earth's 20th century. To do this, I need to get authorization from the highest authority"_

* * *

As Picard waited outside the Admiral's office, Data reviewed for him the history and procedures for authorized time travel. 

"Although the existence of time travel is a well known fact, the actual techniques and equations are shrouded in secrecy. The last recorded deliberate attempt at time travel (not including your mission to rescue me) was the "Whalesong" incident, where the command crew of the original U.S.S. Enterprise used a Klingon Bird-of-Prey to retrieve a pair of whales from 20th century Earth.

After that event, in one of the few unanimous resolutions of the Federation Council, it was resolved that any attempt at time travel must first be ratified by the unanimous decision of a special select committee of the Federation Security Council. For such a mission to be approved, clear and compelling evidence of two things are absolutely required:

1. An immediate danger to the integrity of known history.

2. Documentation that the mission is a part of recorded history.

To date, no proposed mission has been able to fulfil both requirements to the satisfaction of the select committee."

Picard sighed, "I can only hope that we will be the first to do so."

Data paused, them continued. "I believe that our efforts should concentrate on fulfilling the second prerequisite. If evidence exists that the mission did occur, any attempt to prevent it would automatically fulfil the first condition."

"I would think Q's involvement would be enough to do that," Picard said tightly, remembering Q's taunts.

"Ah'd say that depends on his motives," drawled a voice from the door. The captain and his second officer turned to see an elderly man in a Starfleet Admiral's dress uniform slowly enter the room. "Sorry ah'm late, but those damned bureaucrats seem to think Ah have all the time in the world. Don't they realize Ah've already spent most of it?"

Picard tried to hide his concern as he rose to greet the Admiral.(1) This man was Starfleet's liaison to the committee due to the fact that he was one of the three people alive today that had multiple experiences with time travel, and survived them. Of the others, one of them was currently on a sensitive diplomatic mission,(2) and the other was roaming the spaceways trying to catch up on 75 years of missed technology.(3) As the group entered the Admiral's office, Picard reflected on the fact that he and Data were probably the only ones in Starfleet to have met all three.

"Thank you, sir," Picard said, "for meeting with us so promptly."

"No need to thank me, sonny. At my age, if you don't do something quick, you might not get to do it at all. Besides, ah've always had a fondness for ships named Enterprise, and their crews." The Admiral paused for a moment, lost in his memories.

"Admiral, have you had time yet to read our report on the incident?" Abruptly coming back to the present, the Admiral replied, "Ah read it on the way here. This Q fella, he's the same one caused you to be late at Farpoint?" Picard nodded. "Ah've been reading the reports about him. Just the fact that he's involved is gonna give the committee fits."

"Why would knowledge of the involvement of a powerful extradimensional being cause the members of the committee to suffer seizures?" asked Data. "Are they ill?"

"The only illness they have is an excess of timidity!" growled the Admiral. "We have at our fingertips the opportunity to know more about our past than we ever dreamed possible, and Ah just KNOW they are going to throw it away!"

"What do you mean?", blurted the captain, becoming more worried by the second. "Surely if we produce evidence that the mission took place..."

"It doesn't matter," sighed the Admiral, suddenly looking every moment of his 143 years. "They're just too afraid to do anything. No matter what you say or show them, they'll just say it wasn't 'compelling' enough. Either they will give you a crackpot alternate explanation, or they'll say the evidence could be a fake."

"**FAKE**!" responded Picard indignantly. "I would **NEVER **stoop to such a thing, not even to save my **SHIP**, much less a member of my crew."

"Perhaps not," grumbled the Admiral, "but it isn't YOU they'd be accusing. After all, you weren't anywhere near New York when the painting were found."

Picard suddenly realized what the Admiral was trying to tell him. "They'd say Q could be trying to trick me into going back to change history myself." He considered the idea for a moment. "No," he finally decided, "it's just not his style. He would consider that kind of deception to be beneath him."

"Ah guess that depends on the wager." The Admiral thought for a moment. "Do you have any idea what it is, or who it is with?"

"None at all," replied Picard, "except that it has something to do with the pictures in the tunnels."

"The tunnels DO seem to be the key. Ah,d better go on down there and take a look for myself."

Picard stood up. "My ship can transport us there in seconds."

"Now hold it just a minute! No need to be in such an all fired hurry. Ah'll jest head up to the roof, and get a shuttle to New York." The Admiral headed slowly for the door.

"But, Admiral," protested Picard, "that could take hours!"

"Approximately 2.75 hours," added Data, "given the current traffic patterns over the city."

The Admiral turned as he reached the door. "The way ah see it, as long as we don't make any unrecoverable mistakes at this end of history, we've got all the time in the world. If we do, nothing will matter much to us anyway. Besides, rank has its privileges." As he left the room, he called back, "Are you coming or not?"

The captain and his second officer looked at each other for a moment, then followed the Admiral out the door.

* * *

**REFERENCES**

1. ST:TNG, Encounter at Farpoint, SD: 41153.7. In the series pilot, the Admiral's age is established as "137 years, according to Starfleet records." Although his identity was never in doubt, the Admiral's name is not mentioned in the episode.

2. ST:TNG, Unification I & II, SD: 45236.4-45245.8

3. ST:TNG, Relics, SD: 46125.3


	6. Part V: Welcome to Below

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part V - Welcome to Below  
**_

Vincent watched from his usual place in the shadows as his father comforted the crying stranger. How many times had he stood there over the years, watching as his father greeted those who sought sanctuary from the world Above. Watching as he tried to heal their wounds, both physical and spiritual. At first, as a child, it was simple curiosity. Later, as a man, he came to regard it as one of his duties, to protect his father and the tunnels if the stranger turned out to be a threat to them. Fortunately, he had not yet been needed in such a capacity. And though he knew that this one's fears and loneliness were real, and that she meant them no harm, still he watched her. He could sense she was hiding something.

* * *

Deanna hated to lie. It went completely against her Betazoid background, and she was never very good at it. Even the casual tact she used with her patients was the result of years living among the head blind. So she had fully expected that her performance would be greeted with more than a little skepticism. She was right. What she had not anticipated was how little those doubts would mean in the face of her obvious distress.

* * *

_"Perhaps, after all these years, Vincent's empathic abilities are beginning to rub off on me,"_ thought Father as he handed "Deanna" his handkerchief to dry her tears. Although he doubted that her amnesia was real (or at least as severe as claimed), he didn't think her agitation was totally feigned. She was clearly upset about something that she didn't want to (or was afraid to) talk about. What ever it was, it was important enough for her to risk being placed at the mercy of strangers. 

If they were, in fact, strangers to her. What had disturbed him more than her probable deception was the brief look of recognition on her face in that first moment when she had seen him. Could she be a Helper, or perhaps a former resident, who did not want to be identified? Although the theory was tempting, he quickly discarded it. He was sure he would have remembered if they had ever met before. Most likely he reminded her of someone she knew. Father decided that he would play her game for now. There would be time enough for his questions later.

These thoughts had taken but a moment. "I will try to answer your questions. Yes,I am a doctor. My son, Vincent, found you unconscious in the graveyard, and brought you here to our home. You did not have any identification with you, so we have no idea who to contact, or where you live. Before I explain about this place, I must have your word never to discuss with anyone what I am about to tell you. There are people who rely on this place for safety and sanctuary, and if it were discovered, many of them would have nowhere else to go."

"I promise," Deanna said after a moment, "never to discuss this place with anyone who does not already know about it. I don't want anyone to be hurt. I just want to know what's going on." Father was encouraged by her hesitation to give her unqualified word. It meant she was more likely to keep it once given.

"You are currently in the city of New York, or more precisely, under it. There are hundreds of miles of tunnels beneath this city. Old abandoned sewer lines and forgotten subway spurs, steam tunnels and secret passages used by bootleggers and smugglers, the basements of buildings razed and built over. There are also natural passages and caves, carved from the bedrock by underground rivers and the seepage of ground water."

"This is where we live. We are those who have been rejected by, or have chosen to reject, the world Above. This is a secret place, safe from hate and harm. Here we have built our own world, based on the principles of friendship and kindness. We survive on the castoffs of the city, fashioned into things we need by our own hands. When we cannot salvage what we need, we rely on friends Above who give us what they can. In a very real sense, we are a family."

"There are not many rules here, but there are a few. The first, and most important one, you have already agreed to: to keep this place a secret. We lead a very fragile existence here. The wrong word in the wrong ear could lead to disaster for us. For some of us," he said, looking into the shadows, "it could mean their lives."

"We cannot always adhere to the letter of the law, but we do try to keep to its spirit. From this comes our second rule: we are not criminals and we refuse to harbour them." Father looked steadily at Deanna, trying to impress upon her the importance of this rule. "We do not require those who wish to stay here tell us any of their secrets, but we can not afford to tolerate outright deceit. If we discover a person is wanted by the law, they will be asked to leave."

Satisfied that Deanna understood, he continued. "Those who live here permanently are expected to contribute to the community in some way. This is not a requirement, and we will not turn away those who need a place to heal. However, we have many things that need to be done here on a regular basis, so idleness is discouraged. Many people uncover hidden talents and skills while they are Below, that can lead them to new and satisfying careers, either here or Above."

"Our final rule, the center and reason for our existence, is to help where you can without harm. This is not restricted to those who live Below, or to our Helpers who live Above. It has been brought to us, quite forcefully on occasion, that what happens Above will have an affect on our lives Below. Our responsibility does not end where the sun starts to shine. Some of us do volunteer work where a pair of helping hands is more important than a Social Security number. Others lend their aid to recycling efforts (since we were doing it long before it became fashionable). The important point is, to see where help is needed, and then do what you safely can."

He paused, allowing his thoughts to travel back over the years. "There was a time when we were much more reluctant to involve ourselves in the troubles of the world Above. They were what we had sought to escape by coming here, and the security of the community was too important. It took a very special person to show us that all things were indeed possible. That if we left our safe places, we could make a difference. She had a great deal of courage, and she changed all our lives."

Coming back to the present, he turned to Deanna. "You may stay here as long as you wish. If you wish to leave, tell me and I will see that you are escorted safely to the surface. Don't be concerned about your memory loss. I'm sure it will return in due time."

* * *

Deanna was amazed. This man did not believe her story, and yet he seemed perfectly willing to trust her with his secrets. She knew only one other man with that sort of courage, and even Captain Picard would have been hard pressed to trust her in similar circumstances. Much less obliquely give her permission to keep her secrets while at the same time warn her of the consequences of betrayal. That sort of trust demanded that it be returned. 

"Thank you," she said gratefully, "I would like to stay. I seem to have nowhere else to go. I wish I could tell you more, but I just can't. I honestly have no idea how to get home."

Deanna had been aware of the watcher from the shadows for some time now. It was the same one whose pain she had sensed earlier, a pain that had flared when the old man had mentioned the "very special person" who had changed their lives. She had a very good idea who the watcher was by now. Although tempted to force a confrontation, she noticed how tired her two hosts were. It can wait until morning, she decided.

Apparently the old man had a similar idea. Stifling a yawn, he said, "That should be enough for tonight. It's time we all got a little sleep. I'll have someone look in on you from time to time to make sure there are no lingering effects from your accident. I will see you in the morning. Goodnight."

* * *

Vincent watched silently as his father picked up his cane, and left the hospital chamber. Although he wanted to stay to try to figure her out, he followed his father out of the room, pausing for just a moment to bid his own silent _"goodnight"_ to their guest. He never heard her reply.

* * *

A man called Pope had just received a telephone call. He was a man who despised loose ends, considering them evidence of sloppy planning. Now he discovered that one particular loose end he had thought dead and buried for four years was currently waking up in a secret government hospital. He had to decide what, if anything, to do about it. He should be safe. She had never known anything about him. He decided to have her watched. Better safe than sorry. 


	7. Part VI: History Lesson

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part VI - History Lesson

* * *

**_

_**"Captain's Log: Supplemental**  
Our first meeting with the Starfleet liaison to the committee has left me very disturbed. While he is more than willing to help us present our case to the select committee, he has grave doubts about our ability to convince them to authorize a time travel mission. Meanwhile, Dr. Bennett has notified us that new information has been discovered concerning the tunnel community. She has agreed to meet us at the excavation site to show us these findings."_

* * *

"You know, at first glance Ah thought this fellow might be Caitian," remarked the Admiral as he examined the portraits on the tunnel wall. "But bone structure is all wrong. And the ears, too low and fixed in position. Notice his claws. More like long human fingernails. Ah doubt they're retractable either. Finally, no tail unless it's stuffed in his pants. Nope, he's not Caitian. What the hell is he?" 

"We do not yet have sufficient information to identify his species, sir," replied Data, imperturbably as ever. "Perhaps when Dr. Bennett arrives with her new findings we will be able to make a more precise determination."

The Admiral grumbled, "What in tarnation is taking her so long anyway? Ah thought she'd be waiting for us when we got here. Does she think Ah've got nothing better to do with mah time?"

Data, correctly analysing this as a rhetorical question, refrained from answering as the Admiral returned to his examination of the pictures. He located the Captain in discussion with one of the consulting archaeologists, and was about to approach him when a commotion at the gallery's entrance announced the belated arrival of a dusty and somewhat dishevelled Dr. Bennett, leaning on the arm of one of her assistants.

The three Starfleet officers rushed over. "What happened to you?" asked Picard, concerned that she might have been injured. The Admiral pulled an old style medical pouch from behind his back, but the red haired anthropologist waved him off.

"Sorry I'm late," she said cheerfully, "but I took a wrong turn and fell down a mouse hole." She chuckled as she sat down on upended plastic crate.

Picard, confused at the strange reference, repeated "A mouse hole?"

"**THE** Mouse hole," she replied, "at least that's what I think it was, if the description in here is accurate." Under her arm was a small book, bound in leather. With the cover cracked and the pages yellow, it looked very old and very valuable. This was obviously what she had come here to talk about.

"Young lady," interjected a clearly irritated Admiral, "Ah am 143 years old, and Ah do not care to play 20 questions to get to the bottom of this. If you please, begin at the beginning. It is, as an old friend of mine would say, the logical way to proceed."

This comment reminded Captain Picard of his manners. "Admiral, this is Dr. Dolores Bennett. Dr. Bennett, Admiral..."

"We've met, Captain," interrupted Dr. Bennett, apparently unruffled by the Admiral's irascible manner. "He gave a most interesting talk at the Academy on the Sociodynamic Structures within Quarantined Populations." She smiled, as the Admiral blushed at the memory.

Although intrigued, Captain Picard decided that questions about that incident should wait for a better time."May I?" he asked, indicating the book the Dr. Bennett held.

She handed to him very carefully, saying "Be careful! This is a Bennett family heirloom, and my mother would have my head if anything happened to it." Picard, no stranger to handling ancient documents, opened it with all due caution. On the fly leaf was written, in a bold yet feminine hand, "Journal of Diana Bennett, 1990." He turned to the first page.

_"The events_ (he read)_ I am about to relate, although they may sound fantastic, are all true. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed it myself, and yet here I am, a part of it all. It seems so strange. I met these people such a short time ago, and now they seem more of a family to me than my own. When Father asked me to write about what happened, I was flattered, but puzzled. He explained that Below, everybody was too close to what happened to write even a moderately objective chronicle. My training as a police officer should allow me to keep things in perspective. I hope so. It's the least I can do for my godson, Jacob."_

Picard closed the book, and looked accusingly at Dr. Bennett. "Why didn't you tell about this us before?"

She looked at him steadily. "I didn't know about the book until last night," she replied, "when my mother gave it to me. You see, it was handed down as a legacy from generation to generation of Bennett women. It was alright to tell stories from it to the children, but the existence of the journal itself was kept a strict secret. Ordinarily I wouldn't have known about until either my mother died or I gave birth, whichever came first. But when I told mom that we had found the Tunnels, and needed to know more about the legends, she decided it was time to break tradition."

"I was up most of the night reading it. I guess that's why I took a wrong turn in the first place. Anyway, I can put names to most of the people in these pictures now." She got up, and walked over to the pictures, the others trailing behind her. She stopped at the picture of the blond man with the lion face. "His name," she said, "was Vincent..."

* * *

The four of them sat quietly, each alone with their thoughts. The humans were trying to eat, but most of the food remained untouched on their plates. Data was carefully examining the journal, turning the pages much more slowly than was usual for him in deference to their age. They were in a chamber that was tentatively identified as the communal dining hall for the community. Now it served the same function for the team of researchers as they mapped and catalogued the network of tunnels and chambers. But the atmosphere was different now. Portable food replicators stood where a man named William once cooked with fire. On the holographic map set up at one end of the chamber, the coordinate designators were being replaced by names. Father's Chamber. Mouse's Hole. The Great Hall. Chamber of Winds. Crystal Cavern. Pascal's Pipe Chamber. The Maze. The Abyss. 

Picard, strangely enough, felt more relaxed than he had in days. If Deanna was indeed among these remarkable people of the twentieth century, she was probably as safe as she could be in that dangerous time. For people from that period, they had a remarkably advanced outlook. She should have no trouble fitting in at all. His major concern was that her true nature might be discovered by Vincent, who was also an empath. Not that he would hurt her. If only half the stories about him were true, she would be in no danger. At least not physical.

Dolores Bennett was feeling slightly envious of her missing friend, as well as a strong kinship to her distant ancestor. But this was nothing new. Even at the academy, Deanna was always surrounded by an adoring male crowd. Some were there because of her beauty, and others because of rumour that empaths were the best lovers (which might be true, for all Dolores knew). If it hadn't been for the fact that Deanna was a truly nice person, it would have been easy to hate her. Now, she had been given the opportunity to study, and be a part of, one of the most exciting periods of human history. To meet the man whose image had haunted Dolores since she was a child. The paintings and the journal had brought into sharp focus these images from the past. Still, much like her ancestor, she had the feeling of being on the outside looking in.

The Admiral was considering the strange workings of fate. He had visited 20th century New York not once, but twice. He didn't remember too much about the first time,(1) except for one horrifying moment when he thought his friend had lost his mind. But that was long before this community had been established. Its leader would have been just an infant, if he had even been born then. The Admiral would not have been surprised to learn that the seeds of the idea had been planted in that terrible time. The second time,(2) Vincent would have been just a boy. It was probably fortunate they hadn't met. There had been more than enough confusion in that situation as it was. One more wildcard, and the whole thing might have blown up.

Data was learning as much about the people who had lived there by the construction of the book as by it's textual contents (although the text was also quite informative). The pages had been specially treated to reduce their acidity, a process more commonly used for government archival documents. Although not particularly expensive or difficult, it did require skill, time, and patience. The binding was also very interesting. The pages were not only glued to the binding (a good thing, since any glue would have crystallized long ago) but were sewn in by hand. The stitches, while very precise by ordinary standards, had a very slight randomness about them that could not have been produced by a machine. The covers were hand stitched also, and the leather apparently cured by a non-commercial technique. The craftmanship shown was extraordinary. The inside of the front cover showed evidence of a bleaching agent being used. It appeared that someone had tried to erase some writing, perhaps a dedication that was no longer appropriate. Maybe Geordi could make out what had been written there. Obviously someone had expected this record to last a very long time.

* * *

In his lab, the Professor scowled at the holographic display. "Computer, confirm the dates on these last two entries." 

"Working. Confirmed."

"Display them."

_"**11-01-93 00:13** - Subject CC890412 abruptly awoke from her coma at approx. 00:02 am. Subject appears to be suffering from near total amnesia, and claims to recall none of her history prior to the attempt on her life. No impairment of motor or sensory functions has been observed. Mental acuity is consistent with recovery from a long term coma. Subject is now resting comfortably after being mildly sedated. Therapy will begin at 10:00 am. See treatment logs on this subject for further details. V.Beeks_

_**12-20-93 22:07** - Subject CC890412 was illegally removed from this facility at 9:47 this evening by person or persons unknown. Video records of this incident have been Classified Top Secret under Bluebook 9 protocol. All further inquiries must be directed to General John Christopher, USAF. File closed."_

The Professor paced in front of the terminal. "John Christopher,(3) now where have I heard that name before. Computer, do you have any other references to a John Christopher who was a General in the United States Air Force in 1993? Cross reference links to a project or protocol Bluebook 9."

"Working. 12 references found, 2 connected to Bluebook 9."

"List the 2 linked references."

"Project Orpheus Incident Reports: Subject CC890412"  
"Bluebook 9 Archives Authorization List: Omaha AFB"

He stopped, smiling. "I think we're on to something here."

**

* * *

REFERENCES**

1. Star Trek: The Original Series, City of the Edge of Forever, SD: 3134.0 (Aired: 4/6/67)

2. ST:TOS, Assignment: Earth, SD: unkown, (Aired: 3/29/68)

3. ST:TOS, Tomorrow is Yesterday, SD:3113.2 (Aired: 1/26/67)


	8. Part VII: Face to Face

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part VII - Face to Face

* * *

**_

_**"Vincent's Journal, November 23, 1993**  
"It has been over three weeks since Deanna woke up, and we are no closer to knowing anything about her past than we were when I brought her down here. Father asked Diana Bennett to try and find out more about our guest, but so far there is no evidence that Deanna Troi ever existed Above. Ordinarily this would be a cause for concern, but both Father and I agree that her silence on the subject is meant more to protect than to deceive. She no longer tries to claim amnesia, but simply refuses to talk about herself, except in the most general of terms. And the few hints she does let slip are confusing (to say the least), filled with strange knowledge and even stranger ignorances. Although we have yet to meet face to face, she does seem to be aware of me when I watch from the shadows._

_When I told Father of the empathic abilities I had sensed from her, he was at first startled, then thoughtful. Deanna adapted so quickly to life Below, I was surprised when Father discouraged me from introducing myself after the standard two week probation period was over. Father then explained his concern that our shared talent might be generating a false sense of intimacy that could be affecting my judgement. I conceded he might be correct._

_However an additional week of observation by 'objective' parties has failed to discover anything to her detriment. Indeed, her willingness to become part of this community has gained her many friends here. Mary is full of praise for her way with children. William's desserts seem to be involving more chocolate than usual. And Mouse, normally very shy around strangers, has taken to following Deanna around and showing her his latest gizmos (much to Jamie's consternation). Father finally had to admit he could see no reason why we should not meet. So we will, tonight."_

* * *

Deanna looked at her new friend in disbelief. "Chocolate Cheese Nuggets? Sorry, I don't think so." She wondered yet again what strange quirk of genetics and environment had managed to make her old friend Dolores Bennett from the 24th century into a virtual duplicate of her 20th century ancestor, Diana. That they were related Deanna had no doubt. They had the same keen investigative minds, the same ability to get into the thoughts of others by using the physical evidence of their lives. They even had the same sense of humor. Even though she had to be more careful around Diana than any of the others, Deanna was glad to have a friend with a familiar face. 

They had met when Diana came to ask her a few questions to find out about her past (at that time she was still clinging to the myth of amnesia), and Deanna was very grateful that she had spotted Diana first. By the time they were introduced, she had managed to compose her expression into one of polite curiosity. Deanna had exchanged her Starfleet uniform early on for a long, warm dress of blue wool, and topped it with a green sweater under which she hid her ever present communicator pin. This made an interesting contrast to Diana's grey sweatshirt and jeans. They immediately became friends, as some people do who should have nothing in common.

The two of them had offered to help Rebecca prepare the special candles for the upcoming celebration of Winterfest. Although most of them could be left on the doorsteps of those Helpers who lived within the city, a few had to be packaged for mailing to old friends who had since moved away. For these candles, with their bright colored bands, were not only an invitation to the festivities, but also served as a passport to the world Below. As such, packaging them properly to prevent breakage was important.

As the red haired detective put the foil packet back in her coat pocket, and turned to lay the candle in the box filled with scrap newspaper, she said, "That's what I said when Joe first offered them to me. But he swears by them. Says they're great for breakfast." Ignoring the gagging sounds from beside her, she continued, "Knowing the way you love _ANYTHING_ chocolate, I thought you might be interested." She smiled, to let Deanna know she wasn't _TOO_ serious.

They were interrupted by a tapping on the pipes. Deanna recognized the code for her name that Pascal had devised, and Father's signature, but the rest of the message went too rapidly for her rudimentary skill at pipe language. Diana interpreted the message for her. "Father wants to see you in his chambers when it is convenient."

"We are about done here anyway," Rebecca added, as she hung a rack of candles from a conveniently placed hook in the chamber ceiling. "These will take a while to harden, and it's almost dinner time." The candlemaker smiled at Deanna. "I hear William is trying his hand at eclairs tonight. Better not be late."

As Deanna carefully made her way to Father's chamber, she thought fondly over the events of the last three weeks. Everyone here was so friendly. After a short period of caution while everyone got to know her, she had been accepted without question. It was becoming increasingly difficult to conceal those parts of her past that must remain secret from those who trusted her so completely with their own secrets. She had heard many stories of tragedy and hope, of despair and joy, during her career as a ship's counsellor. But seldom had she seen such a consistent display of courage and love as she had here. Qualities apparently inspired from primarily one source.

**Vincent**. Whenever someone mentioned his name, there was a momentary impression of awe, affection, and trust. It was as if he was a myth that had chosen to live among them. He defined the essence of their community, what they hoped and needed it to be. He was the guardian who in turn needed to be protected. He was the proof that ideals could be made into reality. And at the same time, he was a constant reminder of why they must remain apart from the world Above. Even to his closest friends, those who loved him the most, he was as much a symbol as he was a man.

As far as Deanna could tell, from the stories she had heard, only two people in Vincent's life had ever been able to relate to him directly as a person first, or had even truly attempted to. The first was Father's only natural child, Devin, who had been the closest thing to a brother Vincent had ever had. The few tales of their childhood exploits seemed innocent enough to Deanna, but were consistently delivered in scandalized tones, as if Vincent were a prince who should have been above such shenanigans. He, of course, was never blamed.

The other was Catherine. In a way, it was inevitable that the one who caught Vincent's heart should be an outsider who first came to know his mind. When Deanna had first labelled the pair as Imzadi, she had been unaware of the empathic bond between them. Even though she was aware that such bonding between mated pairs of psionicly sensitive beings was not uncommon in the galaxy, she was surprised that such a bond should spontaneously spring forth between such disparate individuals. But perhaps it was destined, she mused, as it had been between Wyatt Miller and his Tarellian.(1)

It often amused Deanna just how much Vincent's friends could tell her about Vincent, while managing to avoid describing the difference in his appearance. The goal was obvious; to prepare her for their first meeting. Whether to soften her shock, or to spare Vincent's feelings, the message was clear: do not allow his appearance to interfere with your judgement of him. They could not know that she had no prejudices in that regard. And even if she had, she already knew what he looked like.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Deanna entered Father's chamber. As always her eyes went to Father's vast library, with the many shelves and stacks of books, some neatly ordered, others in comfortable disarray. The first time she had seen it, her immediate thought had been, _"This is the Captain's idea of heaven."_ This was only the first of many similarities she was to discover between Jean Luc Picard and Dr. Jacob Welles, the Father of this community. It was these similarities that allowed her to so quickly adapt to her situation. In many ways, this place was a starship underground.

As she approached Father's desk, she noticed a game of chess set up there. The pieces were obviously Cullen's work, intricately carved and quite beautiful. The white king has a very accurate rendition of Father, looking very regal. The queen was Mary, who cared for the children, and who could have taken the title Mother if she had chosen to. The rest of the white pieces all had faces of people she had met below, save for one. She picked up the queen's knight, and examined it more closely. Behind her she heard a noise, then a soft voice asking, "A remarkable likeness, don't you think?" She turned, to look into the eyes of the one she had waited so long to meet.

* * *

Trust was implicit because of their mutual abilities, on a level that the head blind find difficult to understand. It was not a concept that was ever consciously or even subconsciously considered (except in explanations to the head blind), but an intrinsic part of the nature of the communication, such as air vibrations are a part of human speech. While Deanna was used to integrating such emotional subtexts into her conversations from her childhood on Betazed, this was a totally new experience for Vincent, one that left him more than a little off balance. 

Because of this trust, Vincent had felt no need to raise his hood, as he usually did before these first meetings. Such ploys seemed superfluous, given how well they already knew each other through their gifts. While they did not share a bond, such as Vincent had with Catherine, there was a link between them that neither could deny. It was through this link that Vincent watched for any signs of distress at his appearance.

"You aren't afraid," said Vincent, a tone of wonder slipping into his voice, "not even the slightest bit. I didn't expect you to be surprised, somehow, even though I can't imagine where you could have seen a picture of me. But never, in my whole life, has anyone looked at me, and not felt even the slightest twinge of fear. Not Father. Not even Catherine."

Deanna smiled at him, sending out waves of reassurance. "Would you be more comfortable if I was a little afraid? It would be hard, but I think I could fake it."

"NO!" replied Vincent, startled into a smile, "I don't think so. It just feels so strange. Usually at this point, I would be trying to reassure you that I don't mean you any harm. Maybe I should be the one doing the asking." He paused, a brief look of suspicion crossing his eyes. "You wouldn't happen to have seen someone who looks like me, have you?"

"No, I don't think so. Although I may have seen people who looked stranger than you, who turned out be good people. Maybe even good friends."

"But you can't tell me for sure."

"No, I'm afraid not, but I'd be willing to bet money on it," she said regretfully, using a phase she had picked from her friend Diana.

Vincent looked at her, asking a question with his mind. What he said was, "I suppose we all have our secrets."

She nodded an affirmative answer. "Yes, I suppose so."

Unsure how to continue, Vincent turned to leave. Deanna, unwilling to let him go just yet, stopped him with a hand on his arm. Empathy was fine in its place, but the only way for her to understand the way he thought was to talk with him. She realized this was something she wanted to do very badly, for reasons she was not yet ready to examine. She searched around for something to say, and seized on the first idea that occurred to her.

"Vincent, could I ask you something?"

"Certainly," he replied, preparing himself for the usual unanswerable question about his origins. But she surprised him.

"Have you made any plans for Winterfest yet?"

"Plans?" he replied, confused.

"I mean, are you going with someone?"

He smiled, suddenly catching her drift. "Are you asking me for a date?" he said gently, not wishing to embarrass her, but finding he needed to know her answer.

"Yes, I guess I am," Deanna answered, blushing a little, and feeling like gawky teenager. This would be a perfect opportunity to get to know him better, she rationalized, refusing to acknowledge the deep physical response she had at the first sight of him.

"I would be honoured, my dear," Vincent replied, sketching a courtly bow. Deanna curtsied in reply, and was about to make some witty comeback, when a rapid tapping on the pipes caught their attention. They both stopped and looked at each other. In senatorian tones, Vincent announced "Dinner is Served."

They both straightened, and Vincent offered his arm to Deanna. She took it, and they strolled out of Father's chamber.

Neither noticed the two flies on the wall behind them. "Well," said one, "it certainly took him long enough. But at least the ball's rolling."

The other replied in a feminine voice, "Wait and see, just wait and see."

* * *

At the Project Orpheus counselling center, Dr. Verbena Beeks turned her thoughts to the woman who had just left. Although her physical therapy was almost complete, there had been no sign yet of her memory returning. She rewound the tape of their latest session, then listened once again to the two voices. 

_"Tell me about the dream. What was different about it this time?"_

_"It started as it usually did. I was in a forest. It was winter, there was snow on the ground, and all the trees were bare. There was a man standing some distance away, hidden by the trees. He was tall, and wore a dark cloak that hid his features. I knew he could show me the way out. I called to him, but he couldn't hear me. When I tried to go to him, the trees blocked my way, and wouldn't let me past. But this time, I heard a woman's voice, calling to him from beyond the trees. He heard HER, he was going to HER, and leaving me behind. That's when I woke up."_

Verbena shut off the tape, and studied her patient's file. She had been held prisoner for six months, given birth, then was found in her apartment with what should have been a fatal dose of morphine in her veins. She had been pronounced dead at the scene, but at the morgue the coroner had detected faint life signs. A federal agent (present for reasons unstated) had arranged for her secret transfer to Project Orpheus, and had replaced her body with a Jane Doe. Her captor was later found dead, shot with a revolver containing shells bearing her fingerprints. Quite a trick, Verbena mused, considering she had been in the Project's intensive care ward at the time. There was evidence that the child had been cared for by his mother's captor for a time, but had not been found at the scene.

Verbena yawned then, looking at the time, put the file and the tape away and put on her coat to go home. "This place is getting to me," she sighed, as she got together all the passes and ID she needed to get in and out of the facility. _Maybe I should take that job offer in New Mexico,_ she thought, shivering in the late November chill as she made her way to her car. _At least it would be warm._ Although what a prize winning physicist needed her for she couldn't imagine.

**

* * *

REFERENCE**

1. ST:TNG, Haven, SD: 41294.5


	9. Part VIII: Expert Testimony

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part VIII - Expert Testimony

* * *

**_

_**"Captain's Log: Stardate 46330.02**  
The Special Select Committee on Time Travel has called for an immediate hearing at Starfleet Command to consider my request for an authorized rescue mission to twentieth century Earth to retrieve our ship's counsellor. Ordinarily, I would be very pleased by the speed at which the hearing was arranged, but unfortunately my crew and the research team headed by Dr. Bennett have yet to uncover any evidence of such a mission having already taken place. Since this is the most important requirement to authorize such a mission, it will be difficult for us to present our case successfully at this time. However, I have no alternative. If I fail, there is no appeal. Therefore, in spite of my misgivings, I have made arrangements for the attendance of a very special witness."_

* * *

It was the third day of testimony. The first two had consisted of an in depth examination of the authenticity of the archaeological evidence. Captain Picard was taking no chances with the Admiral's prediction about the excuses the committee might use to obstruct his goal. Each step in the discovery and examination of the underground community was rigorously analysed and thoroughly documented. Doctor Bennett's mother was called to testify as to the authenticity of the Bennett Journal. Finally the committee officially accepted the evidence as valid and not tampered with. Today would consist of an examination of more recent events. 

"Captain Picard, why did you not contact this committee immediately when you became convinced that one of your crew was going to be sent back in time?" The question came from the head of the committee, Dr. Jason Devereaux. He was the youngest person ever to head the committee, and had made it clear at the outset that it would take a create deal of convincing before he would lend his vote to this venture.

"At that point in time, we knew next to nothing about what was going to happen. Until Q actually abducted Counsellor Troi, I had nothing to report that the committee could do anything about. Most of the information we have now was uncovered AFTER the abduction."

"Do you have any ideas as to the motives of the Q entity?" asked the member from Vulcan, T'Synn. "It seems highly illogical that a being of such intelligence and power would risk the integrity of the time-space continuum over such a trivial reason as a wager."

"On the contrary, it seems perfectly in character. Please remember that Q claims to come from an entirely different continuum from us. Possibly he feels immune from any consequences to this one. He has shown us repeatedly that he considers all lesser lifeforms trivial, an opinion which he delights in sharing with us. I doubt very much that he would bother to lie to me. I have even begun to suspect what his wager might be."

The Andorian delegate Lham B'din inclined his head politely towards Picard, to let his antennae more accurately see and hear him. In a slightly sarcastic tone he asked, "Do you think you could bring yourself to share that speculation with us?"

Ignoring the Andorian's tone, Picard continued. "The basis of my theory rests in something Q said shortly before he disappeared. May I," Picard said, indicating the computer console. Dr. Devereaux nodded. "Computer, replay audio record, senior staff briefing, stardate 46928.03, starting after my words 'Q, what is the meaning of this outrage.' Begin"

The sound of Q's voice filled the hearing room. _"See, don't you feel better now? No? Well, to answer your question, I need your Counselor to help settle a little wager. Don't worry, she won't harmed, and can return to you after I'm through. That is, if she wants to. But you'll have to have to come to pick her up."_

"Computer, end playback," ordered Jomak Ovik, the temporal physicist from Tellar. "We already know he wants us to go back. All the more reason not to. What are you trying to prove, anyway?"

"The key phrase is immediately before that," said the Admiral, grasping what Picard was trying to say. "Q said, 'if she wants to'. This implies that, for some reason, Counselor Troi might WANT to stay in the twentieth century. But why?"

"I believe I can answer that question," said a voice from the back of the room. Picard fidgeted uncomfortably on the witness stand as the newcomer made her way forward. Doctor Bennett gasped in outrage, while Beverly, sitting off to the side with the rest of the command crew, sent a glare her captain's way. The committee members exchanged puzzled looks as the beautiful woman reached the witness stand. "It's been a long time, Jean Luc," she said, smiling at the clearly uneasy Captain.

Annoyed at the theatrical entrance of this new witness, Devereaux sent a look that warned Picard "you'd better have a good explaination for this". Clearing his throat, Picard spoke to the committee. "Gentlebeings of the committee, I would like to introduce the foremost expert on the entity Q, and noted archaeologist, Dr. Vash."

"Thank you, Captain," said Vash as she assumed the witness stand. "I am very proud to testify before this committee on such an important matter. The primary thing to understand about Q is his constant need to prove that not only are lesser powered beings trivial, but so are their ideals and beliefs. For almost two years I travelled with Q, and watched as he dealt with numerous races. One of his favorite games is to take a race's cherished ideals or legends, and 'prove' they are based on logical fallacies or outright lies. That is what this wager is about. And Deanna Troi is only a pawn in his game."

"And the ideal being discredited is...?" asked the Admiral.

"True Love. Specifically, the story of Vincent and Catherine Chandler." Vash paused for dramatic effect. "Since the news broke about the tunnels under New York, many people have approached the Archaeology Council with stories handed down by word of mouth about that place. Most of them centre around the Beauty and the Beast aspect. All of them agree Catherine was Vincent's one true love. Legends like this are important to society because they promote optimism, which is a much greater force than you might think."

"Deanna Troi is supposed to destroy this legend? How?" asked T'Synn.

"An important part of the story is the empathic bond that existed between Vincent and Catherine. This enabled Vincent to rescue Catherine from mortal danger several times. The only time he failed was when the bond was broken by traumatic experiences. But Counselor Troi has her own empathic abilities. Q probably believes that if a new bond is established between Counselor Troi and Vincent, the once in a lifetime love story will become a story of first love.

What Catherine and Vincent had was an eternal love, lasting beyond death. Such a love is always more interesting than first love stories. That is why so many of the famous love stories are tragic ones. If the story changed, all the lives influenced by the story would also change."

"More importantly," interrupted Picard, "the genetic history of the human race could be altered." This startling pronouncement caught and held the committee's attention. "According to the Bennett journal, Vincent had a child by Catherine that inherited some of his empathic powers. If my ship's counselor should fall in love and marry Vincent, their children might not only be empathic, but telepathic as well. Such talents would allow them to rise to positions of power, where they could alter history as we know it. This would be a clear and present danger to the integrity of known history."

The committee was clearly impressed by this idea. It was one thing to speculate about the social effects of a myth, but another to introduce into the past people that had never existed before. People who would be genetically and psionicly superior to the average man, as well. The spectre of Khan's eugenic supermen(1) was still fresh in the committee's mind. They decided to recess to consider it further.

* * *

Omaha Air Force Base turned almost turned out to be a dead end. The underground C&C bunker was still intact, but there were holes in the ancient computers where the hard disks should have been. But luck was with the Professor. As he kicked one of the consoles in fustration, a rusted panel swung open, and a yellowed piece of paper fell out. He carefully scanned this meager piece of evidence with his archaeology tricorder, and managed to extract an image from that document. It was a receipt for the drives from Strategic Air Command headquarters at Cheyenne Mountain, Wyoming. 

Cheyenne Mountain was probably the most examined and documented military installation on Earth. Every piece of data that could be extracted from the many computers there had been catalogued over a hundred years before. It was a simple matter to search the database using the serial numbers on the receipt. To his consternation the Professor saw that the drives had been wiped almost immediately upon installation. However a minute examination of the communication logs showed that an off site full system backup to a secret New Mexico facility had been in progress at that time. It was possible that at least part of the data on those new drives had been backed up before they were wiped.

Filled with renewed enthusiasm, the Professor was about to call the facility, which now served as a museum for the technologies that had been state-of-the-art at the time, when he RECEIVED a call on his personal audio communicator from the self same facility. Apparently someone had been monitoring his work.

After an attractive female voice had asked him to identify himself, the voice continued, "I understand you are looking for some data about a twentieth century military project called Bluebook 9?"

"Yes," replied the Professor, "it's really rather urgent that I find this information immediately. Could you please give me access to your computer?"

"Honey," replied the voice, sounding amused, "I _AM_ the computer."

**

* * *

REFERENCE**

1. ST:TOS "Space Seed" SD? (Aired ?) and the movie "STAR TREK II: The Wrath of Khan"


	10. Part IX: Shadows of Pain

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part IX - Shadows of Pain

* * *

**_

_**"Vincent's Journal, December 12, 1993**  
Can it really be four years? Four years since I last held her in my arms, since that hideous man with the name of an angel took her from me forever? Four years since my sweet Jacob was born? The pain, and the joy, make it seem as if it were yesterday. And yet I must be strong, for Jacob's sake. He must never associate his birth with my greatest sorrow, for he has, since that day, been my greatest joy. I could not have survived, had he not needed me so._

_It is fortunate that, in our society Below, the naming day is of greater importance. The subdued celebration of his arrival in the world is very much in line with that of the other children here. If I had to host a party (such as is done on name day), I don't think I could do it. But a small dinner (just close friends and immediate family) to honor both Jacob and his mother seems a proper tribute to them both. This year, however, he has invited his own guest..."_

* * *

He found at her at her favorite place, the Whispering Gallery, where conversations from all over the city could be heard. She had gone after breakfast, since the children she usually told stories to at this time of day had been invited by Diana Bennett to a Winter Fair being held Above in the park. She usually went there every day after supper, and stood for hours in the middle of the bridge listening to the sounds of the world Above. It was as if she was waiting to hear some special voice or clue that could lead her home. 

In the weeks since Vincent introduced himself to Deanna, they had become the closest of friends. Indeed, in some ways, she was closer to him than even Catherine had been. The bond between Vincent and Catherine had always been rather one sided, with Catherine only sensing his emotions when they were very strong or he was very close. He, on the other hand, had been aware of Catherine's every emotion, except on the rare occassions when she would deliberately shield herself from him. This had caused several misunderstandings, when they had both overestimated Catherine's grasp of Vincent's true feelings.

The link between Vincent and Deanna was a different matter entirely. This was a link between equals, who shared not only the same kind of perception of each other, but of the world around them as well. The link had nowhere near the depth of the bond, but this actually made it more comfortable for Vincent, because it was less intrusive into his life. He wondered sometimes whether this could be the result of a formal training among other empaths for her emotions, while clear, often seemed muted for his benefit. Her strongest emotion was homesickness, which she was feeling right now.

* * *

As always, Deanna marvelled at the symphony of humanity that unfolded around her. The sounds of happiness and sadness, of comfort and of anger, of music and of discord, were there for her to hear, but not close enough to overwhelm her empathic senses. It seemed that the world Above (as even she was beginning to call it) was not so different than the world she had been so abruptly taken from. A world that was becoming less real to her than the one she lived in now. Although she still believed that rescue would come, she began to wonder if she would accept it when it did. Oh, she still missed her friends and the adventures they had, but here she had found a certain serenity that she had not even known that she needed. And of course, there was Vincent. 

When she had begun to fall in love with him, she could not say. It could have been when he so gallantly agreed to escort her to Winterfest. Or maybe when she first woke up in the hospital chamber, and sensed his amazing mind. It might even have begun when she saw his pictures on the walls of Elizabeth's tunnels, back in her own time when it all started. Whenever it began, she now understood the look she had seen in the eyes of Catherine's picture. How could anyone not love him, once they knew him?

Unlike Catherine, she dared not let Vincent know of her love. It was very difficult to conceal it from him, to transmute her despair over what could never be into something resembling homesickness. For the barriers between them made the ones that had existed between Vincent and Catherine seem minor stumbling blocks. She was truly from another world, another time, a place she might return to with little or no warning. She had secrets that she could never share with anyone here. And finally, there was that impossible possibility that she had begun to sense in her dreams, and through Vincent's son. Perhaps Vincent would have sensed it too, if he had not closed himself off from such possibilities long ago. If Deanna was right, there might soon be no room in his life for her except as a friend.

Deanna turned to Vincent, whom she had sensed standing there for some time now. She felt his concern for her, as well as his puzzlement at the distance she chose to maintain even in the closeness of their developing friendship. She also sensed the pain he was so desperately trying to conceal. Then she remembered what day it was, and understood. "I know it may sound trite," she said, "and I'm sure you've been told this a thousand times before, but sometimes talking does help. And at least when I tell you I understand, you will know it's more than just words."

* * *

Vincent was startled, and also a little ashamed. If Deanna could so easily penetrate his shields to get at his true feelings, then Jacob was probably feeling them too, and that was the thing he had been he had been trying to prevent. Obviously his way of dealing with his problems wasn't working as well as he thought. Perhaps he should try it her way. Athough talking hadn't done much good before, neither Father nor any of the others had been trained professionals. And he suspected, from the way she had phrased her comment, that she might very well be just that. 

"I suppose it is the sense of failure that hurts the most," he sighed, looking through Deanna into the mists of the past. "I was given something infinitely precious, and I let it be taken from me. It is said that the saddest words in the English language are 'if only' and it's true. I know I shouldn't dwell in the past, but how can I leave it behind? That is where SHE is. I keep wondering what I could have done different, what sign I missed that I should have seen, and understood. I see so many things that could have been better, opportunities I let slip by because of my fear of change, my lack of faith in our love. She should have had so much more!"

"From what little I know of her, I doubt she would have stayed with you if she had felt cheated it any way," Deanna mused. "And it seems a little arrogant to take all the blame for yourself. You're not God, you know. You can't think of and do everything."

"I should at least remember the conception of my child!" Vincent snapped at her. "It was the only time we ... we ..." He stopped, unable to continue the memory.

Deanna just looked at him, waiting. Her face offered no clue to her feelings, and Vincent's talent could only detect genuine concern for him, rigorously controlled to preserve her objectivity. There was no sense of curiosity, shock or pity, only a willingness to listen to him if he wanted to speak. He realized if he said no more, the topic would be forgotten, never to be mentioned again. She was leaving it entirely up to him.

"There is a part of me that isn't human, and never will be. Not just my body, but my soul as well, has the mark of the beast on it. It is a constant struggle every day to keep that part of me under control. It is a thing of darkness and violence, that has no mercy. And yet, if given a choice, I would not relinquish it, for it gives me the strength to do what I must to protect those I love. Deanna, these hands have killed. Not once, but many times.

There came a time when series of terrible events, orchestrated by an evil man, shattered the balance I need to control this terrible part of me. I was becoming a danger to everyone around me. Yes, even to Catherine. I took myself to a place far below these tunnels, where I could harm no one. I remember little of what happens when I loose myself to the darkness, and by that time there was little else left of me. Catherine came to me, in that dark place, risking her life to save mine. She managed to save me, to send the darkness back, but only at the cost of our bond. It was then that Jacob was conceived, and to this day I can't remember it.

Afterwards, I refused to talk about what happened. I was ashamed she had seen me like that, and afraid to know what I might have done to her during my madness. She let me avoid the subject, believing, as I did, we would have time later to discuss it. But that time never came. Before we spoke again, she was kidnapped by Gabriel, the man who would eventually kill her. Without our bond, I could not find her. I did not see her again until the night she died. It wasn't until then I even knew my child existed."

Vincent could not see Deanna's tears through the mist of his own, nor feel her grief for him through the pain of his memories. "It was a miracle beyond dreams that she loved me, ALL of me, not in spite of my differences, but because of them. And yet the moment that should have been the pinnacle of our love remains concealed from me, and I have to ask myself WHY this is so? Am I so afraid to remember what really happened? Why was our bond broken, at the very time we needed it most? Was it because it would reveal a truth that would threaten my very sanity? Although I tell myself again and again that I could never hurt her, still the doubts remain."

Striving to control her voice, Deanna gathered her courage to ask aloud the question that was between them. "What is it that you fear so much?" Vincent shuddered, as if he was using every ounce of his strength and will to dredge a terrible weight from the depths of his soul. The gallery itself went silent, as if it too were waiting for his answer.

When it came, it was in a whisper so laced with pain that Deanna feared that she might have gone too far. "That I forced, not my strength, but my will on her through our bond. That I made her believe that she came to me by choice, when in fact her desire for me was something I made her feel. That what should have been an act of love was made into one of selfishness. That this abuse of our bond was what broke it, and ultimately resulted in her death."

* * *

Deanna stared at Vincent, stunned by the implications of what he had said. She had thought his fear would be a straight forward one, the obvious fear that he might have raped Catherine. But this was far, far worse. If he actually believed that he could force Catherine to desire him him against her will through their bond, it would only be one more step before he considered that ALL of Catherine's feelings for him might have been influenced by it. And if that happened, the very cornerstone of his life, the memory of their love, might soon collapse. He might even go so far as to question any love directed at him from now on. Even his son's. 

This could not be allowed. But what could she do? Deanna had her own ideas about the nature of the bond, and it's purpose, but they were based on her training and experience as a counsellor on a starship to many species from many worlds. If she simply told her ideas to Vincent, without explaining where they came from, they would sound like the purest speculation on her part. But if she revealed her origins to back up her theories, she would violate the prime directive, risking the existence of the history from which she came.

When she had asked the question, she had taken on the obligation of providing him an answer. And yet, did she have the right to risk everything she had known and loved? Could one man, even Vincent, be worth that? Could the memory of a love that would never be her's, be worth it? Deanna listened carefully as a whisper in her mind confirmed what she already knew. A stranger's voice, that was at the same time familiar, told her, _"It's worth everything!"_

* * *

Vincent was no longer oblivious to the myriad emotions that were playing across Deanna's face and mind. He had now returned to the real world from the abyss of his memories. It was as if bringing his fears to light had robbed them of much of their potency. While he had not intended to cause his companion distress, her silence reassured him as no conventional words of comfort would have. She was taking his fears seriously, understanding as no one else could that one's thoughts and desires can indeed affect the world. She had been right. This time talking HAD helped. 

Abruptly Vincent remembered his original purpose in seeking her out. "Actually, I did not come here to lay my troubles at your feet. I am here, at my son's request, to formally invite you to the festivities commemorating the anniversary of his birth. It will be only a small gathering, just family and close friends. I am very sorry for the short notice, but his highness only informed me this morning that he had neglected to invite you himself. I hope this won't be too great an inconvenience."

Deanna almost sighed in relief. Apparently the immediate crisis was over. In her best diplomatic tones (learned at her mother's knee), she replied, "Fortunately, my social calendar shows that I am free for this evening. You may tell his highness I accept most gratefully his gracious invitation." Reverting to a more normal tone, she continued, "I heard about his birthday from other sources, so I wrote a little story as a present just for him. I was going to drop by later to tell it to him, but this will make it much easier. At what time should I arrive?"

* * *

"The first mate gave the genie back his powers, saying, 'Thank you very much, but I'd rather be a man with good friends, than a genie without any.' This made the genie very angry, but he couldn't do anything about it. He had promised to give the first mate anything he wanted, and a genie cannot break a promise, even if he wants to. If the first mate decided that, like his crew mates, he didn't want to have anything to do with magic, there was nothing a genie could do but go away. So he did, in a flash of light." 

Deanna watched smiling, as the sleepy little boy struggled valiantly to remain awake until the end. "The captain smiled as he welcomed his friend and second-in-command back to his place at his side. Together with their shipmates, they sailed off to more adventures on the high seas. But that is another story." She wait for the expected protest, but Jacob, exhausted by the day's events, had finally drifted off.


	11. Part X: Decision Time

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part X - Decision Time

* * *

**_

"Do you think it worked?" Vash asked Picard as they waited for the committee from it's deliberations. Rather than leave the committee chamber and possibly risk missing the committee's return, Picard had opted to use the room's replicator to order a light dinner for himself, his command crew, and Vash.

"I have no idea," he replied, sipping his Earl Grey, "but at least we gave them something to think about. Hopefully it will be enough to delay a final decision until we can find evidence of the mission."

"I hope so," returned Vash, "since if they don't, you won't be able to fulfil your part of the bargain. And I know how much that would distress you."

The two stood apart from the rest of the group, who were quietly discussing this latest development. Dr. Bennett had excused herself earlier, ostensibly to return to New York to continue the investigation, but more accurately to avoid a confrontation with their star witness. Dr. Crusher wished she could do the same. "I wonder what she wants this time?", she asked Will Riker, who was finishing off his "Kirk Special", a chicken sandwich and coffee.

"More important, what did the Captain promise her for her help?" Will responded, watching the animated conversation between the two of them. "I find it very hard to trust someone who would willingly choose to follow Q." Beverly nodded her agreement, although her distrust of the lovely archeaologist stemmed from far more personal reasons.

Geordi wished he could discuss what was going on with Data, but unfortunately his friend was required to remain with the ship while the two senior officers were planetside. Ordinarily Riker would assume this duty, but Data had volunteered with the logical reason that he would be better able to coordinate the research effort from the ship. Worf had stayed for a while, but had finally returned to the ship, disgusted with the committee's inability to take action. Geordi was considering returning to the ship himself, when a hiss from the doors announced the return of the committee.

The light of the setting sun filled the room as the members of the committee took their seats, and the Enterprise officer's (and Vash) disposed of the remains of their dinner. Picard's apprehension grew as he noted that only the head of the committee himself would meet his eyes. "After due consideration of the evidence placed before it," Dr. Devereaux began, "this committee finds that the first prerequisite for the authorization of a time travel mission has been fulfilled. However, unless new evidence has been uncovered during the committee's deliberations, there is no reason to believe that the mission is a part of known history. Has anything new been discovered during our absense, Captain Picard?"

The captain was about to speak, when he was interrupted by the sound of a transporter. The committee watched in astonishment as a man materialized before them, holding an isolinear optical chip. "Sorry about the theatrics," apologized the Professor, "but from what Data monitored about the state of this hearing, we couldn't afford the time for explanations. Here, Mr. Chairman, is the new evidence you were asking for," he said, presenting the chip.

Dr. Devereaux was livid. "Who do think you are," he yelled, "to interrupt a meeting of this committee! Captain Picard, just who is this person?"

Captain Picard calmly said, "Sir, allow me to introduce Professor Nicholas Brabant, of the University of Toronto. He is Earth's foremost expert on computer archaeology, and the one who originally uncovered the information that led to the discovery of the tunnel community. His specialty is reconstructing government databases from the twentieth century; in particular, those of law enforcement and intelligence agencies."

"Well, " chuckled the Admiral, "you certainly have managed to get our attention. Suppose you explain to us what this new evidence is, and how you came by it."

"If I may?" the Professor asked Dr. Devereaux, who nodded a somewhat grudging assent. "I was trying to discover to what extent the government of the time was aware of the tunnel community, when I found an anachronism in the records of one Catherine Chandler. Her medical records showed several entries dated years after her death certificate was signed. Further investigation revealed that her death was faked, while she remained comatose in a secret government hospital. Shortly after her miraculous recovery (which oddly enough occurred during the period in question), she disappeared under mysterious circumstances. I was able to find audiovisual recordings of this event. These recordings contain irrefutable proof that the proposed mission is a part of the historical matrix." He looked straight at the committee as he spoke, as if trying to convince them of this by sheer force of will.

Jason Devereaux stared at the chip as if it were a photon grenade, primed and ready to go off. In a sense, to him and his career, it was. He remembered the day he had received his appointment to the committee, when it's true agenda had been clearly (but deniably, of course) explained to him. His predecessor had "retired" after the Devidian incident, when he had been forced by undeniable evidence to give Picard a blanket authorization. Now it looked like it was going to be his turn. And it was his own fault, too. If only he hadn't cleared all other obstacles, trusting that the final one would (as it always had before) hold, he could have delayed a ruling until his term was over. As it was, the best he could hope for was to insist that someone representing the committee be present on the mission. He didn't doubt that the evidence was irrefutable. Professor Brabant wouldn't have presented it otherwise.

"The committee," he said, with a resigned sigh, "will recess to examine the evidence in private." Seeing a suspicious look on Capt. Picard's face, he added, "This is soley to prevent recursive causal loops, which might occur if you deliberately tried to duplicate the historical actions documented here. I may be stubborn, but I'm not suicidal. Professor Brabant, would you please join us to explain exactly what we are about to see?" The Professor turned, and smiled at the confused starship commander. "Better prepare your ship and crew, captain. It looks like you'll be going on a trip."

_**

* * *

"Captain's Log: Stardate 46335.21**  
It took only two hours for the committee to render its ruling, and two days to prepare the ship for time travel. In order to minimize the risks, it was decided to leave the saucer section behind, and procede with only a skeleton crew in the Battle section. As an extra security measure, Mr. Data will handle all of the navigational and engineering programming required to turn my ship into a time machine. The committee insisted on planning the mission down to slightest detail, including the presence of a representa- tive. I was very surprised at their choice."_

* * *

"Well, well, look who's crawled out of the woodwork!" A startled Professor Brabant turned from his watching of the Ten Forward crowd, and looked straight into a pair of watchful eyes he had never expected to see again. When Commander Riker had recommended that he come here to relax for a few minutes before the mission got underway, he had be curious what such a place might look like on a starship. He certainly had never expected to encounter someone from his past here. 

"I suppose you'll want the usual," Guinan lightly grumbled, satisfied with the effect of her appearance on her apparently dumbfounded guest. "I'm sorry, but I don't keep ..."

"That's quite alright," the Professor hurriedly interrupted, "the synthetic will do just fine. Doctor's orders, you know." Guinan nodded approvingly, and the Professor breathed a sigh of relief. His own secrets would remain safe, at least for now.

As she handed him his drink (in an opaque vessel, he was pleased to note), Guinan asked him, "I don't suppose your friends will be be dropping by? I doubt very much they would settle for synthetics."

The Professor shook his head. "One has been gone for a very long time, and the other, well, I lost track of her simply ages ago." He paused for a moment, remembering. "You know, he never quite figured you out. Oh, he had some theories, but we laughed, and he never brought them up again." He looked at Guinan with a wry smile. "I guess he was right, after all."

They were interrupted by Worf, who had come to tell the Professor it was time to leave. The Professor quickly finished his drink, and hurried to the door, impatient for his part in this adventure to begin. Worf turned to follow, then turned back, detecting a scent that is familiar to all Klingons almost from birth. But Guinan had already placed the glass back in the replicator. Worf looked at her a moment, then left, believing that he must have imagined it.

The final briefing was almost informal, since most of the ground work had been done already. It was held in the battle section ready room. "Will, you will remain here in charge of the saucer section." the captain began.

"But, sir.."

"No buts, Number One. There was apparently no evidence you were part of this mission, and someone of command rank has to stay with the saucer section. The committee has specified the Mr. Data be in charge of the actual time travel procedure, so I'm afraid that means you stay here. I'm sorry."

Riker looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't. "If that's all, sir, may I be excused? I would like to double check the undocking preparations." Picard nodded, and his First Officer went to leave. At the door he stopped, and looked at his commander. "Sir?"

Picard acknowledged his unspoken question. "We'll bring her back, Will." Satisfied, Riker left.

Picard turned to his remaining senior officers. "The presence of the rest of you was either observed or inferred by the presence of the Enterprise. The Professor will outline the mission parameters. Professor?"

As the Professor move to the main display, the sound of the doors moment- arily diverted everyones attention. The silence suddenly became profound. Framed in the doorway was Vash, dressed in twentieth century clothing, and carrying a small knapsack. "Sorry I'm late, but I wanted to double check the wardrobe. I hope I didn't miss anything."

To everyone's astonishment (including her's), the Professor only smiled. "Not at all," he replied, "we couldn't have started without you."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Some of you have probably already recognized Professor Nicholas Brabant as Nick Knight, vampire and former homicide detective with the Toronto P.D. in the early 1990s from the series _Forever Knight._ He met Guinan in San Francisco in the late 1800s shortly before the events in _"Time's Arrow"_.  



	12. Part XI: Season of Giving

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part XI - Season of Giving

* * *

**_

_**"Vincent's Journal, December 20, 1993**  
Deanna and I seem to have become the targets of a benevolent conspiracy. They aren't even subtle about it. Father is forever finding books that Deanna should see right away, and for some reason he can't take them to her himself. Mary suddenly requires my services in the school room, where Deanna is telling the children stories. And no matter how early we arrive for meals, the only seats remaining are together._

_Ordinarily, I would shrug this off as the sincere concern of meddlesome friends, but for some reason Deanna is becoming increasingly upset with their well meant interferance. I was not surprised when, invited by Diana on a shopping expedition up top, Deanna quickly accepted. In fact, the speed of her acceptance might have hurt my feelings, if I hadn't felt the need for a little respite myself. I almost shudder to think what sort of matchmaking mischief they will be up to tomorrow at Winterfest."_

* * *

Deanna tried not to gawk as her friend manuvered them through the late afternoon crowds of Christmas shoppers. _"It's just like the simulation,"_ she thought, then drawing her borrowed overcoat closer about her, _"except colder."_ Used to the quieter environment of a starship, and lately of the tunnels, she was almost overwhelmed by cacophony of thousands of people bent on filling their holiday gift lists. The emotional onslaught was almost as bad, only made tolerable by the underlying motivation of all this chaos; the spirit of giving. The mission of most of these people was to find something that would make someone else happy. 

When Diana had first proposed this little trip, Deanna's quick acceptance was based not only on her need to escape the matchmaking, but on her realization that she had not any of this amazing city she was living under. All the careful preparations for her journey into the past had remained unused, because she had chosen to hide. There was no telling when she might have to return to her own time, and it would be a shame to miss out on what promised to be a truly unique experience. Besides, she wanted to get some gifts for her new friends, and she had no skills to make them herself.

They finally arrived at their first destination. Deciding on a place to sell her jewels had taken some consideration. The more expensive establishments, where she could have gotten the best price, were closed to her because of the notice she would draw trying to sell expensive items dressed as she was, in the neat but somewhat worn fashions from the tunnels. There were places she could sell them with no questions asked, but she wouldn't get a fraction of what they were worth, since the buyer would assume the merchandise was stolen. Also, there was the risk of attracting the attention of those who (as Cullen put it) prefer to pay for gold with lead.

The place she had chosen was a small but established family business, that was known for its discretion as well as its scrupulous honesty. For generations they had catered to the well-to-do who sometimes fell on hard times, and Father had used them for years (indirectly, of course) to dispose of the occasional valuable that came into the community's possession.

As a traditional shopkeeper's bell announced their arrival, Deanna wondered for a moment if she had suffered another time slip. The shop would not have been out of place in the Victorian era, all mahogany panelling and polish, except for the discreet addition of electric lighting and electronic alarm systems. There were about about a dozen people in the store, mostly couples, either browsing the selection of items tastefully presented in the old fashioned display cases, or being served by the attentive staff.

The clientele was quite varied. A young couple in black leather and studs, sporting bizarre makeup and outrageously coloured hair, were carefully looking over a display of engagement rings, while next to them an elderly couple (obviously quite wealthy) were being shown an exquisite diamond necklace by the owner himself. A distinguished looking gentleman was pondering over a tray of gold watches, while a middle aged couple debated whether to buy a bracelet or earrings as a present for a friend.

"May I help you ladies?" Deanna turned, startled by the salesman's sudden appearance. She had been so engrossed in her study of the customers that she hadn't noticed his approach.

"I'd like to see someone about selling some jewelery," she replied, hiding her embarrasment at being caught off guard.

At this the salesman's eager smile dimmed somewhat, but still he politely showed the ladies to an office, saying "Mr. Jeffik, who handles our acquisitions, will be with you in a moment. Would you like some coffee?" Deanna politely declined, feeling she was already nervous enough as it was, and the young man left to find his supervisor.

Diana turned to her, concerned. "Are you sure you want to do this? That jewelery is one of the few links you have to your past. You might regret selling it, later."

Deanna shook her head. "The way I was carrying them, it's unlikely they had any emotional significance to me. They were packaged more like merchandise for sale (with a price list included), than personal effects. They certainly aren't my style, and where would I wear them anyway? Besides, if I'm going to do any shopping, I need money, right?"

The door opened, and a large, portly man with dark hair and an infectious grin entered. He quickly crossed over to the red haired detective, an enveloped her in a bear hug and lifted her off her feet. "Ah, love," he crooned, "I knew you couldn't stay away."

Diana sputtered, laughing, "Leon, you idiot, put me down! We've got company!"

Sadly, he complied, complaining, "You never used be like that."

Diana straightened her rumpled clothing. "Deanna, allow me to introduce Leon Jeffik, my former partner on the force when I worked bunko. When I moved to special investigations, he wisely decided to change careers, and now works as chief appraiser here, earning as much in one month as we used to earn in a year. Leon, this is my friend, Deanna Troi. She has some interesting pieces to show you."

At this, Leon cocked a quizzical eyebrow. "No questions, as usual?"

"They're clean. That's all you need to know."

He paused, considering. "Ellen and I are having a little party Thursday night at 7. You know, she hasn't seen you in a long time."

Diana sighed. "I'll be there."

Leon suddenly became all business. "All right then, Deanna, let's see what you have."

Fifteen minutes later, the negotiations were concluded, and they left Leon's office. Deanna was pleasantly surprised at having gotten nearly the complete list value for the pieces, a fact she attributed as much to her friendship with Diana, as to her empathic talents aid to her negotiating skills (_"Devinoni Ral(1) would be proud of me,"_ she thought ruefully).

As Leon went to get her money, Diana looked at her in amazement. "Where on Earth did you learn to bargain like that? No, forget I asked. It's one of those things you can't tell me, right?" Deanna just looked at her, silently. "You know, one of these days you're going to give me a straight answer, and I'll keel over from the shock."

Deanna just smiled. "In that case, I'd better remain quiet until we've finished our shopping."

Across the room, the middle-aged couple had made their purchases, and were leaving. "Isis will love this, I'm sure," the woman said, looking at the diamond bracelet they had finally agreed on. "And what's more," she added with a wink, "it goes with everything."

"You're just hoping she forgets to take it off when she changes," her husband responded with a mock stern look.

He missed his wife's "Who, me?" response, as he spotted Deanna, or more specifically, her communicator pin which she wore outside her heavy coat. He hadn't seen that symbol in 25 years, but it wasn't likely he'd forget it. "Bobby, see that woman over there, the one wearing the strange broach?"

"Give it up, Gary," the woman sighed, recognizing the tone in his voice, "you're retired, remember? Report it to your successor if you must, but let her handle it. You've done more than enough."

"All right, dear," he replied, knowing she was right as she dragged him out the door, "but I'd give anything to know what they're doing here NOW."

* * *

Jonathan Pope was silently cursing the orders he had just received. Silently, because even here, in his inner sanctum, he couldn't be sure _THEY_ weren't listening. What he was about to do would risk four years of painstaking work quietly rebuilding his former employer's shattered organization. In his opinion, she was no conceivable danger to them, and it would be best just to let her be. 

Of course, _THEY _never asked his opinion, nor would _THEY _ever consider sharing their reasoning with him. Fortunately, he prepared for all contingencies (even the unwise ones). He picked up the phone, and dialed a number that did not appear on anyone's records (even the phone company would deny it COULD exist). He waited for precisely twenty-two rings, punched a four digit code, then hung up. It had begun.

* * *

At the New York District Attorney's office, a jubilant Joe Maxwell had just received the best Christmas present he had even had (five days early, yet). He was rushing out to keep a just made appointment with the giver, when he bumped into Edie from information systems, who was bringing the case file printouts he had ordered just half an hour ago. 

"Hey, I thought you wanted these," Edie complained as the printouts spilled to the floor. Seeing her boss's expression, she asked, "What happened, did you win the lottery?"

"No, better!" he answered, still smiling as he helped her collect the scattered pages.

"Jenny said yes?"

"Even better! You'll never guess, not in a million years." He handed her the pages, grabbed his coat and hat, and headed for the door.

"Okay, okay, I give up! What is it?"

Joe turned, his hand on the doorknob, and faced her with tears of joy in his eyes. He was almost afraid to say the words, but in the end, he just had to share this miracle with someone. "She's alive, Edie. She's ALIVE!"

Edie stared dumbfounded at the closing door, no doubt in her mind who Joe was speaking about. "Damn," she muttered, disbelieving, "he's finally lost it. Now I'll have break in a new boss." But in her heart, she began to pray, _"Please God, let there be a Santa Claus!"_

* * *

**REFERENCE**

1. ST:TNG, The Price, SD: 43385.6. Devinoni Ral was a quarter Betazoid freelance negotiator with whom Deanna debated the ethics of using empathic talents for commercial advantage.


	13. Part XII: Convergence

_**Q, T AND THE BEAST  
by Dalton S. Spence  
Part XII - Convergence

* * *

**_

_**"Captain's Log: Supplemental**  
The warp trajectory through the sun's gravity well has successfully projected us back in time to the correct date. The ship has assumed geosynchronus orbit over New York, but a preliminary sensor scan of the city has been unable to locate Counsellor Troi. The Away Team that the committee selected is preparing beam down. I admit that a couple of their choices surprised me, although it will make my job a little easier."_

* * *

"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Vash grumbled as she tugged on her gloves. 

Her companions, clad as she was in night-camo (virtually unchanged for centuries), were not sympathetic. "You are the one who insisted coming along," Picard replied, unsuccessfully suppressing a slight grin at Vash's discomfort. "We need your expertise at bypassing the antique security systems. Besides, you were seen."

"You all were," added Professor Brabant, indicating the rest of the Away Team, "and that's all I can tell you. Any more and you might create a paradox by second guessing your actions. Just remember their weapons can be just a lethal as a phaser, so keep your heads down."

* * *

Vincent was waiting for them at the Central Park entrance, as Deanna knew he would be. Although their arms were laden with packages, their faces did not reflect the satisfaction that might be expected from a successful evening's shopping. Vincent went straight to Deanna, who dropped her packages and rushed into his arms. "What happened? I felt your distress, but you blocked it so quickly!" 

"I'll tell you what happened!" an angry Diana answered, "Some creep stole her broach! He bumped into her, and was lost in the crowd before we knew what happened." Sensing her friend's guilt at failing to protect her,

Deanna turned her, saying "It's not your fault. You warned me not to wear it outside, but I didn't listen." How could she explain she had been afraid that she wouldn't hear it's signal under the heavy cloth coat?

Fortunately, she didn't have to. "Well, if you were showing it around in the hopes of someone recognizing it, that sure backfired," Diana said. Vincent could sense this wasn't the precise reason, but allowed Diana's impression to stand. Whatever the reason for Deanna's action, the loss of the broach affected her very deeply. It was if the broach had represented some important link to her mysterious past, a link that was now severed forever.

As Deanna backed out of Vincent's arms and gathered her dropped packages, she forced herself to face the real reason she was so upset. It was not as if the loss of the communicator would prevent her rescue. The captain knew when and where she was, and could find her with an Away Team if need be. No, what she had really lost was the hope of an easy answer.

Before, she had unconciously assumed that the ship would home in on her communicator, and beam her back when they detected she was alone. Now, that simple solution was denied her. She could choose to stay. Here, with Vincent, with her new friends. It wouldn't be hard for her to escape a sensor sweep in the lower chambers, by staying on the move until the ship left. Her new friends would not betray her, not if they knew she really wanted to stay. The captain would not risk a major historical incident by being too obvious. She had a decision to make, and it would not be an easy one.

* * *

"What do you mean, I can't see her?" Joe asked angily. "I mean, how come Jenny can see her, and I can't? I thought her memory had returned." 

"Yes, it has," Dr. Beeks confirmed, "but only to a point. That point is 8 months before she joined the D.A., in April when she disappeared for ten days. She can remember leaving the party, being grabbed from behind and thrown into a van, but that's all. Everything after that is a blank. Something happened during those ten days, something that changed her life and the way she thought of herself. Something I feel she subconciously connects with her 'death,' and the loss of the child she doesn't want to remember."

"Does she know about her father?" Jenny asked. She had been waiting in the lobby of her building when Joe came to pick her, and one look at his face had told her all she had needed to know.

"Yes. I felt she had right to know. She took it pretty hard. Apparently they had some communication problems, and she's upset that she doesn't know if they were resolved. When we asked if she wanted anyone contacted, she gave us your name. We tried to reach you, but you were apparently already on your way."

Joe was puzzled. "Why did you contact me then, if I can't see her?"

"Oh, you can see her, after Jenny, but not right away. I called you because you were probably the most important person in her new life, after her first disappearance. That I could contact, anyway. For two years she saw you every working day, and the memories are still there, hidden but trying to get out."

Dr. Beeks looked at the two anxious faces, debating what to say next. "It's fortunate," she said carefully, "the two of you have become close. Jenny can act as a bridge between you, between the past she can remember, and the part that she can't. It will easier to accept Joe as a friend of a friend first, than as a friend she has forgotten. Once the trust is established, the memories should begin to return rather quickly."

They both nodded their acceptance of the situation, Joe a little more slowly, realizing how difficult it would for him to be patient. "Can I see her now?" Jenny asked.

"Certainly. She's expecting you. Follow me." Dr. Beeks took them through the corridors of what at first glance appeared to be an ordinary modern hospital. A second glance revealed an abnormal amount of security: card-and-keypad locks, no bulletin boards, numerous security cameras, and armed "orderlies" standing outside certain doors.

The wards were slightly different. The locks were of the ordinary type, and the guards were restricted to the nurses' station, and the exits. They stopped at one door, simply labelled "CC890412". Dr. Beeks nodded, and Jenny timidly knocked. A familiar voice called out, "It's open," and Jenny went inside.

The decor of the room could best be labelled as "institutionally cheerful". It could have been any standard chain hotel room in the country, except for the hospital bed in one corner. On the night table by the bed was an open book of poetry. Jenny recognized as one she had seen while going through her friend's effects, and she wonderred how the people who ran this place had gotten their hands on it. There was a walker beside the dresser, and Jenny remembered the doctor explaining how her friend had to learn to walk again, after having been still for so long.

But apparently it was no longer needed, for the familiar figure standing by the window was supported only by a cane. She smiled (an uncertain smile) and said, "Come on Jenny, I can't have changed THAT much."

Jenny could not hold her joy in any longer. "Oh God, Cathy, it really IS you!" she said, and launched herself into her friend's arms.

* * *

Outside the compound, hidden by a copse of trees, six men in black night-camo suits reviewed their mission plan. They were highly trained mercenaries, the best money could buy. They didn't know who their principal was, nor did they want to (if captured, ignorance could save their lives). It had all been arranged through dead drops, newspaper ads, and numbered Swiss bank accounts. They had been given plans of the facility, the external security arrangements, and the location and pictures of the target. They had even been given the name of an inside contact, who would be suitably "rewarded" for his trouble. 

The leader, a hardened veteran whose anonymous looks belied his years of experience in covert actions, gave his men their final instructions. "In five minutes, our friend inside will blow the emergency generator. That will be the signal to drop the power and phone lines, and fire up the jammer. From the moment communication is cut, we have fifteen minutes before a tac team shows up in a Huey. Jefferson can take out the first one, but after that, it's anybody's ballgame. Remember, the primary objective is to terminate the target. Everything else, escape included, is secondary. Our employer has made it clear he will not tolerate failure, and we know the kind of help he can hire. Are you ready, gentlemen?"

"Ready, SIR!"

"Then lets rock and roll!"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this is where I crashed into writer's block so long ago. I've never been much for writing action scenes (I'm still not) so any help or suggestions on how to continue would be greatly appreciated. 


End file.
